I nodded. “Agreed.”
“Wilder can take the lead on dealing with the staff and insurance.”
“I’ll go over it with him, make sure he’s up to speed,” I said, wanting to take some of the load off Scott.
“Thanks,” he said as he kicked some debris on the ground in front of us. Looking at me, exhaustion clear in his eyes, he muttered, “When do you think all the shit will let up? Because I’m getting fuckin’ tired of it landing in our laps. It feels like just when we sort out one issue, another one flares up.”
It was a question I’d asked myself often lately. “No idea, man. But I hope it’s soon because every time we get dragged into shit, it’s taking us away from the one thing we really need to be putting time into. And that concerns the fuck outta me.”
“You’re talking about the club, yeah?”
Nodding, I said, “Yeah. There’s still a divide between the boys and us. Marcus made damn sure of that before he died, and as much as I hate to admit it, we’re really fucking struggling here to come back from that.” The motherfucker had spread so many lies about Scott and turned most of the club against him. My unwavering support of Scott after Marcus’s death had caused them to doubt me as well.
“Trust can’t be bought; the only way we’re gonna get it back is with time. And you’re right, that’s going against us at the moment.” He paused and stared at me as if a million thoughts were running through his mind, and I figured they probably were. “We need to put some time into rebuilding those relationships. I can’t do anything tonight but let’s organise drinks for tomorrow night at the clubhouse if you’re free.”
“I’m free. I’ll make it happen.”
He checked his watch. “I’ve got stuff to do with Harlow, but let’s meet at nine and get this shit sorted.”
“I’ll clue Nash, J and Wilder in.”
He nodded and turned his gaze to what was left of the restaurant. “Whoever did this will pay, Griff. I’ve let shit slide lately, but I’m done.” He looked at me through hard eyes. “Storm’s not going to roll over and be fuckin’ walked over, and if they thought we would now that Marcus isn’t here, they seriously underestimated us.”
I couldn’t have agreed with him more.
* * *
Three hours later, I’d organised everyone who needed organising, and was working through paperwork in the office when Scott walked in with a scowl on his face.
“King and Kick just pulled up,” he informed me.
I sat back in the chair, dropped the pen I held, and let out a low whistle. Our relationship with the Sydney chapter of Storm had been strained since Marcus’s death, and for King, their President, to turn up said things weren’t looking up.
I followed him out to the bar area where King was deep in conversation with Kick and Nash. He glanced in our direction as we entered the room, and gave Scott a nod before turning back to Nash.
Kick left their conversation and made his way to us. His hand reached out for Scott’s and he shook it before doing the same with me. “Scott, Griff,” he greeted us, his voice somber and his expression void of any emotion.
Before we could speak, King joined us. “Boys,” he boomed in greeting, his eyes flicking between us. King always had an unpredictable air to him, and tension ran through me as I waited to hear why he’d made the trip to Brisbane.
“What gives?” Scott asked, cutting to the chase.
King’s face broke out in a grin, and he turned to Kick. “That’s what I fucking love about Scott Cole – that no-bullshit, tell-me-how-the-fuck-it-is attitude.” Turning back to Scott, he said, “I thought it time I paid your club a visit to put to rest this shit about your father.”
Scott’s body remained taut. “As far as I’m concerned, there’s no shit to put to rest, King.”
King’s eyes widened a little. “I’ve heard differently. It would seem some of your boys believe we had something to do with Marcus’s death. And as much as I don’t make it my business to ever answer unfounded accusations, I feel it in me to ensure you know I had nothing to do with it.”
I’d never known King to go out of his way like this. And it seemed Scott hadn’t, either. He remained silent for a beat, and then said, “I appreciate that, brother, but I never doubted you in the first place.”
King assessed him closely before finally nodding once and saying, “Good, I’m glad we have an understanding.” He turned and looked around the room. “Anyone else got doubts over this?” His deep voice cut through the silence, and all eyes were on him. We had about ten members in here today, some of whom I knew to have their suspicions about King’s involvement in Marcus’s death. However, none of them came forward which seemed to piss King off.
He jerked his head for Scott and I to follow him outside. When we had some privacy, he said, “I call bullshit, boys.” Pointing his finger at the clubhouse, he added, “Someone in there has been talking, and I don’t fucking like what I’m hearing.”
I should have known the conversation with him a few minutes ago had gone too smoothly. King wasn’t a man to let shit go, and he’d been breathing down our necks for a few weeks about this.
“Are you saying that you and I have a problem?” Scott demanded.
King’s eyes flashed a warning. “No…not yet. But what I am saying is that you and I are going to spend some time together and figure out which one of your boys I do have a problem with.”
“Wilder can take the lead on dealing with the staff and insurance.”
“I’ll go over it with him, make sure he’s up to speed,” I said, wanting to take some of the load off Scott.
“Thanks,” he said as he kicked some debris on the ground in front of us. Looking at me, exhaustion clear in his eyes, he muttered, “When do you think all the shit will let up? Because I’m getting fuckin’ tired of it landing in our laps. It feels like just when we sort out one issue, another one flares up.”
It was a question I’d asked myself often lately. “No idea, man. But I hope it’s soon because every time we get dragged into shit, it’s taking us away from the one thing we really need to be putting time into. And that concerns the fuck outta me.”
“You’re talking about the club, yeah?”
Nodding, I said, “Yeah. There’s still a divide between the boys and us. Marcus made damn sure of that before he died, and as much as I hate to admit it, we’re really fucking struggling here to come back from that.” The motherfucker had spread so many lies about Scott and turned most of the club against him. My unwavering support of Scott after Marcus’s death had caused them to doubt me as well.
“Trust can’t be bought; the only way we’re gonna get it back is with time. And you’re right, that’s going against us at the moment.” He paused and stared at me as if a million thoughts were running through his mind, and I figured they probably were. “We need to put some time into rebuilding those relationships. I can’t do anything tonight but let’s organise drinks for tomorrow night at the clubhouse if you’re free.”
“I’m free. I’ll make it happen.”
He checked his watch. “I’ve got stuff to do with Harlow, but let’s meet at nine and get this shit sorted.”
“I’ll clue Nash, J and Wilder in.”
He nodded and turned his gaze to what was left of the restaurant. “Whoever did this will pay, Griff. I’ve let shit slide lately, but I’m done.” He looked at me through hard eyes. “Storm’s not going to roll over and be fuckin’ walked over, and if they thought we would now that Marcus isn’t here, they seriously underestimated us.”
I couldn’t have agreed with him more.
* * *
Three hours later, I’d organised everyone who needed organising, and was working through paperwork in the office when Scott walked in with a scowl on his face.
“King and Kick just pulled up,” he informed me.
I sat back in the chair, dropped the pen I held, and let out a low whistle. Our relationship with the Sydney chapter of Storm had been strained since Marcus’s death, and for King, their President, to turn up said things weren’t looking up.
I followed him out to the bar area where King was deep in conversation with Kick and Nash. He glanced in our direction as we entered the room, and gave Scott a nod before turning back to Nash.
Kick left their conversation and made his way to us. His hand reached out for Scott’s and he shook it before doing the same with me. “Scott, Griff,” he greeted us, his voice somber and his expression void of any emotion.
Before we could speak, King joined us. “Boys,” he boomed in greeting, his eyes flicking between us. King always had an unpredictable air to him, and tension ran through me as I waited to hear why he’d made the trip to Brisbane.
“What gives?” Scott asked, cutting to the chase.
King’s face broke out in a grin, and he turned to Kick. “That’s what I fucking love about Scott Cole – that no-bullshit, tell-me-how-the-fuck-it-is attitude.” Turning back to Scott, he said, “I thought it time I paid your club a visit to put to rest this shit about your father.”
Scott’s body remained taut. “As far as I’m concerned, there’s no shit to put to rest, King.”
King’s eyes widened a little. “I’ve heard differently. It would seem some of your boys believe we had something to do with Marcus’s death. And as much as I don’t make it my business to ever answer unfounded accusations, I feel it in me to ensure you know I had nothing to do with it.”
I’d never known King to go out of his way like this. And it seemed Scott hadn’t, either. He remained silent for a beat, and then said, “I appreciate that, brother, but I never doubted you in the first place.”
King assessed him closely before finally nodding once and saying, “Good, I’m glad we have an understanding.” He turned and looked around the room. “Anyone else got doubts over this?” His deep voice cut through the silence, and all eyes were on him. We had about ten members in here today, some of whom I knew to have their suspicions about King’s involvement in Marcus’s death. However, none of them came forward which seemed to piss King off.
He jerked his head for Scott and I to follow him outside. When we had some privacy, he said, “I call bullshit, boys.” Pointing his finger at the clubhouse, he added, “Someone in there has been talking, and I don’t fucking like what I’m hearing.”
I should have known the conversation with him a few minutes ago had gone too smoothly. King wasn’t a man to let shit go, and he’d been breathing down our necks for a few weeks about this.
“Are you saying that you and I have a problem?” Scott demanded.
King’s eyes flashed a warning. “No…not yet. But what I am saying is that you and I are going to spend some time together and figure out which one of your boys I do have a problem with.”
